


Sensory Overload

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, First Times, M/M, Other: See Story Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:18:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair investigate a string of gruesome murders.  Meanwhile Jim initiates a change in their relationship</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sensory Overload

**Author's Note:**

> Also, I don't consider this to have violence but there is talk of a series of murders, including dismemberment. 
> 
> If you read this when it was originally posted, on lists other than SXF, there have been some changes made. 
> 
> I want to thank Liz, my personal cheerleader for all her help, and to everyone who sent feedback while this was in progress. :)

## Sensory Overload

by Kylia

Author's webpage: <http://www.sockiipress.org/~kyliasworld>

Author's disclaimer: I don't know them. If I did, don't you think they'd communicate just a *little* bit better.

* * *

He's gone again. I know he's with her, just like he has been every night for the past few weeks. He's never home anymore. Even on his night to cook he's only here long enough to cook, and if I'm lucky he'll sit still for the twenty seconds it takes him to inhale the food. and then he's gone. And I am alone in the loft again. 

I used to like the quiet. The solitude. Left me alone with my thoughts, where I didn't have to do anything more than just... be. I was happy that way. So I thought. But then it all changed. 

My life was overrun by the bundle of energy otherwise know as Blair Sandburg. At first I hated it. Not him exactly. Just this idea that I was some... freak of nature. That I had this ability I never wanted. This responsibility I didn't deserve. 

He moved himself into my house, my life, my heart, and now there is no going back. And I don't want to go back. I want to go forward, with him. But he isn't with me, is he? No, he is with _her_. 

The irony is, I don't even know who _she_ is. I've never seen her, never spoken to her. He doesn't even talk about her. Which in and of itself is strange. He's not what one would call quiet. Normally he's running off at the mouth about anything and everything. 

But not this time. 

I think that's part of what bothers me so much. If he isn't talking about her there has to be a reason. Some secret he is keeping. Some reason why he won't tell me. I hate it when he keeps things from me. It makes me feel like an outsider...separate from him and whatever it is he is doing. 

Normally, with anybody else, it wouldn't bother me. But it isn't anybody else. It's _him_. My partner, my friend, my roommate. Blair Sandburg. 

With him, everything is different. Things seem clearer when he's around. Despite his needless explanations about everything and his ceaseless ability to equate _anything_ to anthropology, where there's Blair. There's sense. And I don't mean that in an 'Sentinel' sort of way, although there's certainly that. 

But it's more than that. Much more. He makes my very life complete, except when he doesn't. Like now. 

When he's gone. Out. With _her_. 

I woman I don't know and can't name. But yet, she is the enemy. My enemy. 

And I've just declared war. 

She doesn't know it. He doesn't know it. 

But he will. 

* * *

"I really appreciate your help." Kassandra Weatherly looks up at me. She has such a odd expression on her face I can't help but smile reassuringly. 

"It's no problem, Kassy. I'm glad to help." I tell her as I watch her try her reread a passage in a book. We're sitting so close together I knew I must smell like her perfume, but she seems genuinely interested in what I'm telling her, although more confused than most students. 

"I can't do this, Professor." Kassy stares at me with her big brown eyes, on the verge of tears. "It doesn't make much sense to me. Professor Wilkins says it's a lost cause." 

"I'm not a professor." I remind her gently with a smile just before commenting on the rest of her statement. "And Professor Wilkins in an idiot." 

Despite her embarrassment she grins back. "Oh that's right, you traded in your teaching credentials for a badge, 'detective'." She stares at me in silence for a moment and I get this feeling as if she's searching for something in my face. I shudder slightly before turning back to the book. 

"It's true though, Blair. I can't do this. Maybe he's right and I should find something else I'm good at." 

I sigh and move away from her. "Kassy, you're not dumb. You're just not applying yourself." I look up down at her to make sure she's listening. "When you study, people, and cultures, you need to try and read between the lines, hear what they're trying to tell you when they're not saying anything." 

"They're trying to talk to me?" Kassy is giving me this blank look and not for the first time I wonder how I got into this mess. <Because she asked. Oh yes, and I couldn't say no!>

"Have you been studying the cultures? Their beliefs and rituals?" I ask her, instinctively knowing the answer is no. She doesn't seem to understand the fundamentals of Anthropology, and I have often found myself wondering why she is studying Anthro, and why she called me, an admitted fraud, of all people for help. 

Kassy looks away from me. "No. I just... I don't understand what their religious beliefs have to do with anything." She tilts her head up and her brown eyes look so confused. "I don't understand all this spiritual mumbo jumbo very well." 

And there, is the crux of the problem. An anthropology major who doesn't understand some of the fundamentals of the field. Of course this is only her fourth change of majors, and I did promise to help her anyway I could. 

"Kassy. We've been studying this every night for three weeks, and you've improved..." 

"But?" Kassy took a deep breath and waited for whatever it was she thought I was going to say. 

"But... you don't really understand what it is you're trying to accomplish." I stand up and begin to walk around the room. I really want to help her, but I know it's just a waste of time until she knows what it is she's doing and why. I open my mouth to try and explain but the shrill ringing of my cell phone, still sitting inside my jacket interrupts me. 

I walk over to where I set my jacket and rifle through the pockets looking for the phone. 

"Yeah?" 

"We got a problem." The familiar and slightly strained voice of the normally jovial Henri Brown reaches my ears. 

"H?" I sigh into the line. "What's up?" 

"Another body. 1256 Hestle Drive." There's a pause and I am most certain I don't want to hear what he's going to say next. And I'm right. "It's like the other's." 

"I'm on my way." I hang up the phone and turn back to my floundering student. "Kassy, I have to go. Think about what I've said and we'll talk." I tell her. 

The girl smiles and nods and I hope she will think about what I've said, but I don't really have time for that now. I don't have time to shower even though I know I must smell pretty ripe. Tonight, I went directly from work to run some errands and then to the gym before meeting Kassy. 

So, stinky or not, I head out to my car and to the site of another body. Another dead body. Another dead _and_ mutilated body. 

Oh, such is my life. 

Weren't things easier when I was just an observer? No? I don't think so. Not much has changed. Except of course for the paycheck and that heavy piece of metal I am now forced to carry around. 

But otherwise, everything's still the same. 

I'm still Blair Sandburg, Jim's friend, roommate, partner, and shadow. Only now, I follow him around for a completely different reason. 

Or do I? 

* * *

He's here. I haven't seen him yet, but I know he's here. I can almost feel him here. It's strange. This sense I get when he's around. It's unlike anything else I have ever experienced. Not before my Sentinel abilities were activated, and not since. 

It's like this energy that fills the room and me whenever he is near. I can feel it passing through me like an electrostatic charge. 

My enhanced hearing has located his heartbeat, beating inside his chest, and I know that it'll only be a matter of moments before he reaches me. I can hear him stop at the door to the patio and speak quietly to Connor. 

The doors are pushed open and I can almost _feel_ him coming closer, even though we are still too far apart for me to sense his body heat, or anything that would cause me to sense him so completely. 

"Find anything?" He asks me so softly that I know it was meant for my ears alone. 

He has bent down next to me and I can feel his body heat now, radiating from his body, taunting me, tempting me. I stop and extend all of my senses. They are now trained solely on him. I can hear the steady thrum of his beating heart and the sound of his regular breathing. The heat radiating off of his body soothes me somehow, reminding me of what I already know. He is not just a friend, or a partner, he is an extension of me. A part of my very soul, which has somehow managed to leave the safety of me and exist in the outside world. I realize that this assessment is rather prehistoric and is just another example of the accuracy of some of his observations. He _knows_ me. Really knows me. In ways I can't even fathom. Ways he probably doesn't even realize. 

With a start, I notice that I haven't moved. I got lost somewhere in my own internal thoughts. He is still crouched down next to me and even though he isn't watching me, I know he is. His eyes are actually trained on the crime scene before us, and I can hear the hitch in his breathing as he stares at the victim. 

Despite his attention on the dead body, I know he is using his own limited senses to keep an eye on me. This knowledge sparks something within me and I inhale deeply, trying to imprint his scent on my senses, even more than it already is. 

But then it happens. 

I smell it. I smell _her_ mixed in with his own sweat and body odor. The same scent I have smelled on him for the past several weeks and I am reminded of where he was before. I am filled with so many emotions, I can't even identify them long enough to repress them. 

Foremost in my mind is anger. Anger at her for being for him what I can't. Anger at him for being with her. For not even telling me about _her_. Anger at myself for not doing what I should have done long ago. 

After the anger comes determination. I realize that I have wasted enough time, and I'm tired of waiting. 

I stand up and turn to him. Our eyes lock and something passes between us, but I'm not even certain what it is. If it can even be defined. Although I do know that if anyone could define it, it would be my partner. 

I blink, breaking our connection. I'm not even sure how long we stood there. Did I zone? Did he? Somehow it doesn't matter. I've made my decision and I know what it is I will do. What I must do. 

But the sounds of the forensic team making a last sweep of the patio reminds me of where we are and why we are here. I take another deep breath, trying to center myself like he is always telling me to do. 

His scent wafts through to me and I am reminded of the woman he has been with, and I am filled with a possessive rage... again. I clamp down on it as I answer his earlier question. 

"Just like the others. She was found in the pool. At least what's left of her." I turn toward the forensic team, which is still bagging evidence a few yards away. "Most of the organs have been bagged and tagged. They say they need to examine the body, but I can already tell you how she died." 

He's staring at me now and I can almost hear the wheels in his head turning, and I'm not sure if he's thinking about what I've said or about something I haven't, or if its something else altogether. 

"Chemical Poisoning." He says and I nod, acknowledging what we already know is the cause of death. 

I see this look on his face, like he's trying to figure something out, but about what I'm not certain. Taking another deep breath, I find myself assaulted by the scent again. It's different though, which causes me to re-think things. 

I step closer to him and inhale again, trying to isolate the smells as if they will tell me everything I need to know. His scent is flowing over me, overpowering everything else, and I want to lose myself in it, but the touch of that foreign scent brings me back from that place I was rapidly approaching. 

The scent of the woman is still present but it doesn't seem to be as deeply imbedded on my Guide as I previously thought, and I'm not sure what that means exactly. I can't seem to think clearly. But at the moment I don't care. 

I turn my gaze back to him and I stare into the blue depths of his eyes, losing something there, and yet gaining it too. I don't know what it is he sees in my eyes but it must be something because his eyes widen ever so slightly, as if he has realized something. 

Then his heart rate picks up, just enough to alert me to the change. 

I see knowledge in his eyes. What is it he thinks he knows? 

* * *

I think we've lived together too long. I've lived with _him_ too long. That's the only thing I can use to explain the way he's been acting recently. To explain the way he's been watching me recently. The way I _know_ he's watching me now, sensing me out. 

I can almost feel it. This crackle in the air. We're not even in the same room and I know he's using his Sentinel abilities to track me. I know all of this, but what I can't figure out is why. 

Why he seems to be watching me all the time, cataloguing me almost as if *I'm* the Sentinel and *he's* the Guide. Why he seems to find me so very interesting all of a sudden. Why he has this need to know... _something_. I'm not sure what it is he's looking for, or even if I could help him find it if I did know. 

I shake my head from my thoughts, knowing that it's not helping anything right now. Not that it ever will. I'm not even really sure if my over-analization ever has. 

I turn towards the back of the house and brace myself for what I know I'll find when I reach the crime scene. I know that despite the fact that I've been trying to find reason where there isn't any in my own life, it is here where I truly need to analyze things. It is also here where I will find less understanding than in Jim's actions. 

"Sandy, you made it." 

Connor's smiling at me from the doors to the patio, but I can tell from the look on her face that I'm not going to like what I find. 

"Is it bad?" I ask, already regretting that I asked. 

Connor averts her gaze and I push through the doors and make my way across the patio to where Jim is standing over the body. 

"Find anything?" I ask, sentinel-soft as I crouch down next to him. 

He seems to freeze for a moment, almost as if time itself has stopped and then I see his body move, however softly and he seems to be taking a deep breath. And I'm not sure whether he is trying to center himself like I am always trying to get him to do, or if he is just using his enhanced sense of smell to take in the crime scene. 

Jim stands up and turns to me. There's this look in his eyes that I don't think I've ever seen before. The anthropologist in me wants to examine it, analyze it, but the man in me finds it to be more than I can even understand. I find myself drawn to it, like a moth to flame. 

Before I can't even fully understand that look, or what it might mean, my partner blinks and the moment is lost. 

"Just like the others. She was found in the pool. At least what's left of her." He turns toward the forensic team, which is still bagging evidence a few yards away. "Most of the organs have been bagged and tagged. They say they need to examine the body, but I can already tell you how she died." 

There's something strange about his tone. It's controlled, level. I've heard him that way on countless occasions both before I became his official partner and since, but there's something different about this time. Almost as if he's holding something back. Something that he doesn't want me to know. 

Normally I would push, but for some reason I don't. Maybe I don't want to know what it is he isn't telling me. Maybe I'm afraid to ask, afraid to _know_. 

"Chemical poisoning." I say, voicing what we both know was the cause of the victim's death, despite the state her body was found in. 

Jim nods, and I know he's heard me, but he's got the look on his face again. The odd one. The one I can't analyze. I'm about to ask him if something is wrong when I see him inhale again. He steps closer to me, as if trying to isolate some smell he can't place. 

Then everything changes. The look on his face, the stance of his body, the color of his eyes even shift ever so slightly. Everything, a silent testimony to the tension which is now radiating from him. I want to ask him what's wrong, to find out what it is he has sensed that has him all wound up, but the look in his eyes stops me cold. It's dangerous, completely feral, and slightly frightening. 

I realize with immediate clarity what it is he has smelled and what he must think. 

And suddenly I recognize his recent behavior for exactly what it is. 

* * *

"Jim?" I ask him, hoping to forestall what I know is coming next. "It isn't what you think." I tell him as I back up a step. 

He doesn't say anything, but he's looking at me, his blue eyes intense and filled with something I've never seen before. Not for me, or anyone else. 

"Jim!" I hiss, opting to step closer to him instead of run from him. 

That was perhaps not the smartest move because his eyes darken and he moves forward and now we're almost touching. 

"Not here." I whisper and then before he can react I turn around and walk away. 

I know I've got to get out of here, and quickly. If the look in Jim's eyes is any indication, he isn't thinking too clearly and if we don't leave something is going to happen that we will regret. 

I make it outside without too much trouble. 

"Sandy? You all right?" Connor stops me on my way back to my car. 

I try to smile reassuringly, but judging from her raised eyebrow, I don't think she's buying it. "I'm fine." Her brow arches a little higher. "No worries." I tell her with a small smile, hoping she let it go in light of my impersonation of her favorite phrase. 

"Okay." She nods, seemingly excepting what I've told her, then she places a hand on my shoulder. "Don't forget we have a meeting tomorrow." 

"Thanks." I tell her, and I am thankful because I think that's the first I've heard of it. "I have to go." 

I leave the scene of the latest crime before I can be stopped again, or worse. Before Jim makes his way outside. Which I know he is trying to do. I'm not sure how I know that exactly. It's just something I _know_. 

Once I know I'm out of sight I run as fast as I can to my car. I don't even pause long enough to collect my breath before climbing in and starting the car. I need to get home, and quickly. 

I have this sudden urge to shower, to wash the scent off of me. The one that I know _he_ sensed. It's the smell that has driven him to this bizarre behavior. Behavior I might be imagining, but I don't think so. 

Apparently I have beat him away from the crime scene because I keep looking backwards as I drive away and keep an eye out in my rear-view mirror, and never once do I even glimpse his truck. 

Maybe if I make it home first and can wash whatever he is smelling away then I can stop what is going to happen. But even as I think about that, I know that it isn't likely to happen. And if I'm honest with myself, which I am _really_ trying to be, I'll admit the idea of what might happen doesn't really bother me. 

I mean, despite the present-day tribe we protect here in Cascade, my Sentinel is still very much the caveman I once accused him of. He's predatory and territorial and a million other things I wrote about. Of course, that was when I was actually studying him, for research's sake. Now I study him for a completely different reason. But that doesn't make my knowledge of him, and the way he works any less accurate. 

I know that Jim feels that he needs to stake his _claim_ , so to speak, on me. And it doesn't really bother me. I _know_ that. I _understand_ that. What gets me is all the reason's it _could_ be for. 

I know that whatever he feels he needs to do, whatever his instinct is driving him to do, is all about the Sentinel/Guide thing. It's all about animal instinct and primal urges. It isn't about him and me and what we are to each other. What we have become to each other. It isn't about what we've given up for each other or what we are still willing to sacrifice. 

And that's all right. 

It has to be. 

* * *

It seems like forever before I actually make it out of the crime scene, although I know it's only been a few minutes. Everything seems to be moving slowly. I know Blair has gone. I knew the second he moved out of range and I ceased to hear his beating heart. 

I speed through traffic, my police lights flashing, bringing me that much closer to what I need. To my guide. To home. 

I see his car parked in its usual spot when I pull into the parking lot and I waste no time going into the building and up the elevator. I'm not entirely certain what it is I'll find when I enter the loft, but whatever it is, I'm prepared for it. 

I can hear his heart beating before I enter 307 and I know he's in there, waiting. Waiting for me. I can also hear the sound of running of water, and I track him to the bathroom. 

When I enter the small room, I find him removing the last of his clothes, as the steam from the running shower fills the room. Ordinarily I would probably be frozen at the site of a naked Blair. His ass is perfect. But, at the moment, I am too overcome by some bizarre desire to remind him who he is. Who he belongs to. 

I walk further into the room and watch him as he prepares to shower. I know what he's doing. He thinks if he washes away her scent, it will make a difference. It won't. 

I grab him just before he can climb into the shower and push him up against the back wall. 

"It's not what you think." He tells me. He says it so calmly I think that maybe he knew I was there. 

I inhale deeply, cataloguing him. We're so close now, my body pressing him into the wall. I can smell him, but that other scent still permeates him, still covers him in another's scent. It fires something inside of me that I'm not even aware of. 

"What do you smell?" He asks me, quietly. He doesn't seem to be as upset by the recent events, as I would think. Maybe this is some weird Sentinel thing, and he's just been waiting for it to happen. 

"Her." I growl the word, letting him know that I really don't appreciate the smell. 

He nods his understanding at me. And then he starts to speak. His voice is slightly lower. The Guide voice. "Go deeper. How far can you go? How far is the smell?" 

I inhale once more, pulling the scent from him. It isn't as deep as I thought. _Her_ scent is only on the surface, covering everything. But when I dig deeper, get to the very essence of him, Blair is all I smell. The shampoo he used this morning, the herbal shaving gel he uses, his aftershave, his sweat, and that unmistakable smell which signifies to me that it is Blair I smell. Only Blair. Nothing, or no one else, past the surface. 

That pleases me, but it doesn't stop my desire and _need_ to mark him as mine. I look into his eyes, and I think he must sense that because there's an odd look on his face. 

And when I press my lips to his, hungrily, he doesn't pull away. But instead, his lips are opening, and my tongue is invading that warm, wet cavern, and now I am tasting him. Truly tasting him. And the taste takes me further, drives me harder than anything ever has, and all at once I am overcome with this need to take everything I can from this man. This need is almost a tangible thing. I don't think I could stop it if I wanted to. But I don't want to and so I don't. 

I divest myself of my own clothing while I'm devouring him. He's sucking my tongue into his mouth eagerly and I find myself wondering who it is that's in control of this situation. 

I take a deep breath and my nostrils are assailed by the stench of that woman. I know that nothing happened. I _do_ know that. Now. But knowing it, feeling it, and not letting it bother me are completely different things. 

The water is still running so I move Blair into the shower and climb in after him, still kissing him. The kisses are growing more frantic now and I press my body against his, my flesh over sensitized as it melds against his. I can feel his erection pressed against me and it sends a fire through my veins. 

I turn him over and his hands are leaning flat against the tile of the shower. The sight of him like that, naked and wet and waiting for me to claim him nearly causes me to lose the tenuous control I have. 

Almost by instinct I find myself reaching for the bottle of herbal body gel Blair likes to use. When I pop the top, the scent starts to swirl around the room, blocking out almost everything. Everything, except for the complete, unbridled need I can scent coming off of my Guide. His pheromones are leaking and driving me to distraction. 

I wonder how long his pheromones have effected me like this. Has it always been this way, and I just didn't know it? Is it something new? Is he like this with everyone, or is this just for me? 

Pushing thought away, I coat my fingers liberally with the gel, and begin exploring a part of his body I never knew I could. A part I never knew I wanted. 

He's moaning under my ministrations and I reach my other hand around and stroke his chest, tweaking his nipples, which brings another moan, just as I insert a second finger into his body. 

He's so hot, so tight, and I just know that I'm the first, and that pleases me beyond measure. "You're mine!" I growl into his ear as a third finger is inserted. 

He's trying to nod I think as he bucks back against my hand, as it continues to stretch him. The fingers of my other hand have trailed down his chest and are now wrapped around his own erection. I can feel it throbbing in my fingers, which only makes me harder than I think is possible. 

I position myself at his entrance, not stopping to check to make sure that it's okay. At this point, I can't even contemplate what we're doing and how it will change things. I only know that I must, I must claim him, make him mine, for now, for always. 

I thrust into him once, deeply. After that it's all a hazy blur of motion. Me thrusting into him, stroking his cock. Him thrusting back against me, moaning, his hands on my hips to make sure I don't get too far away. All the while, the water drones on behind us. 

It isn't too long before I can feel how close to the edge we are. I can feel the tension in him as he starts to come. And then he's coming, and coming, and coming, shouting my name, while his ass is clenching my cock, drawing my own orgasm out. 

I howl and bite his shoulder fiercely as I come. 

The smells of the small bathroom overwhelm me. Our mixed scents combined with the smell of his blood from my bite, and the herbs from the shower gel. I can feel his shuddering breaths beneath my chest as he comes down from his climax. I can hear the small little gasps coming from him as he sucks in air. 

And then we're falling. Our legs have given out and we're hitting the bottom of the shower, the now-cold water raining down on us. 

I look up at the shower head and see the water streaming out, see through the tiny little holes, see beyond what a normal man would believe is even possible. But I'm not a normal man, and neither is the man in my arms. 

And for the first time in a long time, that's all right. I understand now. I truly do. 

* * *

I open my eyes when I hear the water turn off. I'm not sure why that one thing surprises me, but it does. You'd thing everything that's happened in the past hour would surprise me more than the water being shut off, but it is that which shocks me. Weird. 

My body aches in ways I never knew it could. In places that I had never imagined being touched before. But that's okay. Nice even. Except for the fact that I am reminded why this happened. 

It was because of my Sentinel's proprietary instincts, which I fully understand. But it somehow makes me long for more. For his touch, not because he needs to mark his territory, but because he wants _me_. 

I sigh softly and am startled again when I hear the water being turned on again. I turn my head around and see Jim with the bottle of shower gel in one hand and a washcloth in another. I will never look at that bottle the same way again. 

Turning my face back to the wall, I concentrate on the design of tile. I'm not ready to face him yet, and anything he may be thinking. I can't bare the thought of any apology, not yet. So instead I just sit there, my sore butt growing numb on the cold shower floor. 

Suddenly I feel a dribble of shower gel cascading down my back, followed by the washcloth. As the cloth reaches my shoulder, his movements slow and I can feel a tender kiss along the bite there. It makes me wince in pain. It doesn't seem to phase him because he continues his cleaning of my body, slowly, gently, silently. 

Before I have even realized it, he has pulled me to my feet and has continued his cleaning ritual along the front of my body. My eyes are closed, just enjoying this feeling. The feeling of being cherished because I don't know how long it will last. 

He's moved up from my feet to my calves and my inner thigh now. From there he tenderly cleans my soft cock and balls. There's nothing erotic about this, except for the very reverence in which he's doing it. 

After another few minutes he's moved from my groin to my abdomen and on up to my chest. Soon, he's reached my neck, and my face, and finally my hair. 

He's washing my hair. 

That may not sound like a big deal. But it is. I've never had another person wash my hair before, aside from my mother, and that was twenty-five years ago. But never anyone else. Never a lover. I always felt it was too personal a thing for someone to do. I never felt safe enough with anyone to even think about it. 

But now? I'm just standing here while he's kneading my scalp and caressing the curly, wet strands of hair. I feel a moan erupt from my lips at the sensation, and I can feel a rumbling erupt from him as well. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was purring. 

Then he moves me gently under the spray and rinses me off. After he turns off the water, again, we both climb out and he's wrapping me up in one of his extra soft bath towels, and guiding me up the stairs. 

He lays me down on his big bed and climbs in next to me, pulling me against his chest. I sigh contentedly, not sure exactly what this means, but unwilling to second-guess it. 

I feel the rumbling again, and this time I'm sure it's a purr. 

I drift off to sleep wondering just what happened. And if it will ever happen again. 

* * *

I wake up to this really odd sensation that I'm not where I'm supposed to be. So much so that I'm kind of afraid to open my eyes. I turn over in my bed, only to discover that I'm not in _my_ bed. It's much too large to be my own bed. I open my eyes, trying to brace myself for what I will find. 

And then it all comes back to me in one wild rush. 

Helping Kassandra Weatherly with study, getting the call to the latest crime scene in a string of gruesome serial murders, Jim's odd reaction to my appearance, leaving the crime scene, going home, only to be followed by my partner, in one of his 'primal-Jim' moods. 

I knew when I signed on for this Sentinel-Guide thing that there were some things that wouldn't have changed, despite our residing in a big city in the twenty-first century and not in some ancient jungle. Still, sometimes I wonder if I lost my mind. 

We had sex last night. Jim and I had sex. I keep thinking it over and over, hoping it will eventually sound less surreal. Not that I haven't thought about doing just that on numerous occasions. But the actual fact that it happened is kind of surprising. I never imagined it would. That he would _want_ to. 

I should be happy, right? A fantasy fulfilled? 

Except I'm not, and it's not. 

This wasn't about sex. Not for him and not for me. Another thing, which should be good, except that it was about two completely different things for each of us. 

For, me it was about love, and trust, and understanding. I've loved him for a long time. Certainly not from the beginning, but not too long after. I think I first realized I loved him after that incident with the cold medicine and the train. 

When he told me that he had used some of my techniques to get his senses under control, I'm not sure what shocked me more. The fact that he actually paid attention to anything that I had to say, or the fact that he trusted me, and my ability to help him enough that he would use what I told him when I wasn't even around, when his life was in danger. 

That touched me, deeply. And despite everything we've been through since then, my love for him hasn't diminished, but grown to a level that's hard for even me to grasp. That's what makes this so hard. 

I _know_ that for him, this wasn't about love, or trust, or understanding, or any of the other things I could name. This wasn't even about passion, or desire or hyperactive hormones. 

No, this was about possession and territory and other primal instincts that drive him. He needed to stake a claim on something that was always his for the taking. He's the Sentinel, and I'm the Guide. His Guide. 

I understand that. But sometimes I wish that there were room for love in all that he feels. 

Forcing my mind away from my thoughts, I climb out of Jim's bed and collect any clothing I can find and make my way downstairs. The loft is utterly silent and I know that he's gone. 

When I reach the kitchen, I find a bag of bagels next to the morning paper and a hastily scrawled note. It says that the forensic report on the latest victim has come in. 

I sit heavily on the chair, reading between the lines. Seeing what he didn't write down. 

That case is _ours_ not _his_. The fact that he didn't get me up to go with him speaks volumes. He didn't want to be reminded of what happened between us, or the fact that I slept in his bed. 

I remember how tender he was as he bathed me afterwards and it brings a sadness to my very soul to know that that wasn't about love either. Most likely it was his sense of guilt kicking in, once the primal instinct was appeased. 

Maybe my understanding isn't needed in this situation, but my acceptance. 

Realizing the truth of that sentiment, I stand up and begin to get ready for work. Despite his desire to forget what happened, I have a job to do. A murder to solve. 

* * *

"This doesn't make any sense." I reiterate, for the third time in the forty minutes since I was given the forensic report on the death of Mary Kay Mulroney. 

"What doesn't make sense, Jimbo?" 

I turn around to find Inspector Megan Connor standing over my desk. She sees the report and frowns. "Chemical Poisoning?" She asks. 

I nod. Megan's been working this case with Blair and I from the beginning. The thought of Blair brings a smile to my face. I really hated to leave him this morning, but I wanted to get started on this latest report. 

I would have woken him, but I knew that it would be several hours before we had enough information to do more than speculate, and he seemed a bit tired last night. Although that was probably because I wore him out. Not that I would change a thing. 

It took me entirely too long to do it to begin with. Now, I feel as though the entire world knew something that I should have known all along. Was this what was always meant to happen? I don't know, and I don't really care so long as it's happening now. 

"Hey, Jimbo, you in there?" Megan's voice had dropped an octave and I think maybe she's been talking for several minutes, but I've been too lost to notice. 

"You all right?" She asks as I blink and stare up at her. 

"Yeah, fine. What's that?" I ask, pointing to a small plastic bag she's carrying. 

Megan looks down at the bag and then back to me, she has this odd expression on her face. "They found it... in the body." She tells me as she hands it over. 

"In?" I ask, almost afraid of the answer. 

Megan nods. "Yeah. It was found in with the small intestines. It's been tested and cleaned." 

She's staring at me now. "What?" I ask. 

"Well, aren't you going to check it out... do your magic mojo?" She's grinning now but I can see she's still a little upset by where it was this piece of evidence was found. 

When I get a closer look at the bag, I see it's a watch of some sort. The clasp seems to be loose, which might explain how it was found nowhere near either wrist. But considering the depravity of this particular killer, you never can be sure. 

I take the watch out and run my fingertips over the surface. It appears, to normal vision to be smooth, but I can detect tiny, miniscule grooves. I turn my sense of touch up a notch to see if I can detect something in the watch which forensics might have missed. 

I feel this oily residue caked inside some of the grooves, almost as if it's lying in wait. I raise my sense of touch the tiniest bit more, hoping to be able to identify what it is I'm feeling. 

Then everything goes blank. 

No touch, no sound, no sight. Smell is muted and I can't even feel my tongue much less taste this morning's coffee and bagel. 

I'm lost in this nowhere place for an indeterminable amount of time. It's not a zone out. Not even close. It's different from any sensory input, or lack thereof I've ever experienced. And I'm lost in this strange place, drifting, seeking... 

"Jim? Hey, buddy, come back to me. Follow my voice. I know you can do it." 

I know that voice. It's ingrained into my very soul. It's a part of me, just as the owner of that voice is. 

I blink, and suddenly, everything snaps back into focus. 

"What happened?" I ask as I look around and discover I'm no longer at my desk, but sitting in Simon's office, in Simon's chair. 

Simon and Megan are both standing on the other side of the desk, looking at me with concern. The blinds are drawn, not allowing any curious spectators to see inside. I can feel Blair's warm hand rubbing slightly on my arm and I wonder how long he's been at it. 

I turn to face him and can see the naked fear in his eyes. 

"What happened?" I demand, hating that look of fear in his eyes. "How long?" I ask, my voice barely more than a hoarse whisper. 

"Fifty-seven minutes." He tells me, sentinel soft. "What happened, Jim? Can you remember?" 

And that's what scares me the most. I can't. I can't remember anything that happened these past fifty-seven minutes. It doesn't seem like it could possibly be that long, but it obviously has. Blair wouldn't make something like that up. 

I shake my head, realizing he is still waiting for an answer. "No. I don't remember." 

Blair nods his head slightly and turns to face Simon and Megan. "What did he touch?" He asks, and his voice is no longer that soft, gentle tone he used with me, but strong and determined, and I know with utmost certainty that whatever just happened, whatever will happen next, Blair will make sure everything is all right. That _I_ am all right. 

* * *

This is bad. I can feel it. This was not a zone out, or any other sensory problem we've encountered before. I'm not sure what caused it, but I am acutely aware that if I don't figure it out, it's going to happen again. 

I take a deep, calming breath and focus most of my attention on Megan and Simon, although a small percentage of my mind is still trying to reassure itself that Jim is okay. Nothing happened.  <This time.> a tiny traitorous portion tells me. 

"What happened?" I ask, centering more on Megan than Simon, because I know she was the one with Jim when _it_ , whatever it is, happened. 

"He was fine until he did his mojo on this." Megan hands over a small plastic baggie. I recognize it as the kind used to bag evidence at a crime scene. 

I take the bag and examine it. "It's a watch." I observe. 

"Very good, Sandy." Megan says wryly, but I can tell she's concerned about what happened. "It was found on the body of Mary Kay Mulroney, yesterday's victim." 

I take it out of the bag and take a closer look at it. I bring the watch close to my nose to see if I can smell anything on it. I may not have Jim's senses but my sniffer works pretty well. Unfortunately to my normal senses I can't detect anything unusual about it. 

When I flip it over I notice there's an inscription. 

"Bela, Always and forever." It's signed with the initials T.W. 

That inscription doesn't makes sense because our victim's name is Mary Kay and nothing in our background check indicated a relationship with anyone with the initials T.W. Although admittedly we could only find information going back a little more than a decade. Before that Mary Kay Mulroney didn't seem to exist. 

Turning the watch over in my hand, I run my thumb across the top, but with the latex gloves I'm wearing I can't tell if there's any kind of chemical residue on it. 

"Was this tested for drugs, or other chemicals?" I ask. 

Simon hands me a file folder and sits on the edge of his desk, his dark eyes keep darting over to Jim, who still seems a bit disoriented. 

I put the watch back in the bag and hand it to Megan just before pulling off my gloves and taking the file folder. I read through it, my mind trying to connect the dots. 

"This doesn't make any sense." I comment trying to find the similarities between this victim and all the others. There isn't any, as far as I can tell. 

Megan snorts, causing me to look up at her. 

"What?" I ask, confused. 

"That's just what Jimbo said." She motions towards Jim. 

I turn toward him. "Well, he's right." I look down at the paperwork. "Are we sure the ID is correct?" I direct my question more to Simon than Megan. 

Simon walks to the side of his desk and pours himself a cup of coffee. "We aren't sure about anything, Sandburg. Her body, like all the others was in pieces. Twelve of them if I'm not mistaken." He hisses at me. 

It's on the tip of my tongue to reply, quite acidly, but I realize that Simon must be getting a lot of grief from the brass on this one. I sigh instead. "The fingerprints say she's Mary Kay Mulroney, which is what the driver's license in the purse found at the scene say. But..." I trail off as I pick up another report. "But the house is owned by a Thomas Eugene Walters." I turn to Jim. 

"If that's correct... we've got a problem." 

"A big one." 

Jim must have cleared his head, because when I lock eyes with him, his are clear and he has this determined look on his face. It's a look I've seen countless times before, and I know that whoever the killer is, whatever plan they have, they aren't nearly prepared enough. 

"Who's Thomas Walters?" Megan asks with all the ignorance of someone who either doesn't pay attention to local politics or has been living elsewhere for the past twenty years. 

"Thomas Walters. As in Mayor Francine Walters one and only son." Simon elaborates wearily. 

Megan nods and I can see her trying to find some sort of correlation to this victim and all the others 

The door to Simon's office opens up and Henri Brown walks in carrying yet another file folder. 

"Confirmation." He tosses the file folder onto the desk and several 8 x 10 black and white photos slip out. Each one depicting a different body part, covered in blood, and some orangish-yellow fluid that we can't identify. 

"Mary Kay Mulroney." Henri nods towards the gruesome photos. "AKA Belinda Walters." 

Simon groans. Jim scowls. 

"What?" Megan asks, clearly confused. 

"Belinda Walter's is, or was, the daughter-in-law of Mayor Walters. Thomas Walter's wife. She disappeared fifteen years ago without a trace." 

"Well she sure left a trace this time." Jim speaks softly as he examines the photos with the steely determination that had won him the honor of Cop of the Year two years running. 

* * *

"Okay, people, so what do we know?" Simon looks around the conference table at each one of us. 

Blair looks like he wants to say something, but chooses not to. Megan looks as though she may have a theory but is hesitant to bring it up. I guess it's up to me to begin. 

"Five victims. All women. All found in houses they didn't live in. All found in roughly a dozen separate pieces." I pass around a stack of pictures of the victims before continuing. "All died from some sort of chemical poisoning, method unknown." 

"The latest victim was ID'd as one Mary Kay Mulroney, which turns out to be an alias for Belinda Walters, the mayor's missing daughter-in-law." Blair continues as he picks up one of the photos and walks around the table. "But there's something here that doesn't add up." 

This statement doesn't surprise me in the least but Simon and Megan seem to be shocked by it. They both look up and stare at my partner, a question in their eyes. 

"What doesn't add up, Sandy?" Megan asks. 

Blair runs a hand through his hair and sighs. " I don't know!" He nearly growls out. "Just... something." 

Simon rolls his eyes at this but Megan seems to be thinking. I really want to help him explain it, but he's the one that explains things in this partnership and I don't have a way to explain what we suspect without explaining how it happened or what it means, and I just don't have those answers. 

Simon stares at Blair for a long minute and I think he's about to snap at him or something, but instead he just rolls his cigar around in his hands and sighs. "Well when you figure it out, let us know, hmm?" 

Blair nods his head and grabs the stack of files on the table before disappearing out of the door. I watch him go, and want to follow, want to talk to him, about things, other than this case which is really beginning to wear on my nerves. 

But I don't. I just sit there, watching after him, trailing him with my senses. I can hear him getting farther and farther away, walking down the hall, pressing the button on the elevator, climbing in when it arrives. He's breathing deeply, but I can tell it's more of an enforced kind of breathing than natural, trying to calm himself down, lower his speeding heart rate. 

I hear a noise off to my right and turn to face the sound. Megan is still sitting at the table, staring at me. I notice that Simon has gone, probably back to his office. 

"How is he?" Megan asks me and I notice that her voice is really quiet, almost at sentinel level. 

For a minute I think about acting like I don't know what she's talking about, but then I remember that she's our friend. Probably one of the best we have, considering that other than Simon, she's the only one who knows the truth about me, and my abilities. 

I sigh. "He's upset. This case is really tough on him." 

"On everyone." Megan corrects me. 

I nod. "Yeah, I know. There's something not right with this case." I pick up the stack of pictures Blair left behind and flip through them, stopping at one of the intestines of the latest victim, followed by several pictures of the different separate limbs. 

"See, look at this. What do you see?" I hand over a couple of photographs. In one of them you can see one of the victims arms, minus the hand, covered in the odd, orangish-yellow fluid we haven't been able to identify. The other photograph shows a hand, it's fingers outstretched as if it was reaching for something. It's the only hand we actually found. 

Megan picks up the two pictures and looks at them closely. I watch her face, searching for any sign that she can see what I see, what I know my partner saw. After a minute, Megan's eyes go wide and she brings the photographs closer to her face, examining them carefully. 

"It's not the same person." Megan says, her voice tinged with awe. 

"Exactly." 

* * *

This case is giving me a really big headache. Between the gruesome state of the bodies and Jim's bizarre zone-out and now the realization that the latest victim might not have been whom we thought it was... I think I need to meditate... for a really long time. 

I hear the door behind me open and before I even turn around, I _know_ its him. Jim. He enters the room quietly. Silently. There was a time when I wouldn't have been able to even tell that he had entered the room at all. 

But we've been through so much together now that I think we're connected in a way that I can't even hope to understand. And I know that if I don't understand it, Jim couldn't either. 

"Hey." His voice is soft behind me and reflects a note that I know is only for me. 

"Hey. Sorry about that." I nod towards the door, indicating the conference room. 

I can almost feel him shrug behind me, letting me know that my apology wasn't really needed. 

"You find anything?" He asks me motioning towards the evidence bags I've got spread out on the metal table. 

The different body parts are just sitting there. Several of them are covered in that strange fluid, but others are caked in their own bodily fluids. They all seem to be reminding me of a part in some gruesome horror flick. Like the body parts of some demented psycho that wouldn't remain dead. Even though these are the parts of the victims, and not some killer. 

Still, it's rather disturbing. 

I feel a warm hand on my back, comforting me. Telling me, through touch that I'm not alone in this. That he's there for me, just as I am for him, as I always have been. And I know he is as affected by this case as I am. Maybe more so. 

"Did you tell them?" I ask quietly, fighting the need to lean back into his touch. 

"Connor." He tells me, wrapping an arm around me. 

"Jim." I tell him. "Not here." I know that he probably doesn't care that we're at the police station, that anyone could walk in at any moment. And really, neither do I, except that we aren't really _together_. I mean, yes, we had sex. Yes, I had a wonderful experience afterwards. The entire night was beyond anything I ever imagined. And believe me, I imagined plenty. 

But we aren't really a _couple_. We don't have a _relationship_. That's not what that night was about. I know it, and he knows it. 

"I don't care." Jim whispers in my ear and I can feel his breath along my skin. 

"Stop." I plead. 

I don't know if he just doesn't want to deal with this now, or if it just isn't worth any time he could spend on it. But whatever the reason, he does as I ask and lets go of me and steps around the table and begins to look at the various body parts. 

He stares at the different limbs and other parts and I can tell by the set of his jaw and the look on his face that he's extending his senses. I wait patiently to see if he can determine anything other than what I already know. 

"These are all from the same person." He points to three separate pieces that are sitting in one corner. "And those over there... are from the second victim." He looks to me for confirmation. 

I nod. "Yeah. Marika Vladamir." I look at a stack of papers on the counter to my right. "She was a dancer. Ballet." 

"And the other," He points to the pieces he was cataloguing first. "The first victim." 

"An instructor at the university names Clarissa Thomas." I supply. 

"Did you know her?" 

He's staring at me now and I can tell he's trying to gauge my reaction at the university being brought up. 

"No." I look at her file and grin wryly. "She specialized in music appreciation." 

"And?" Jim asks and I know his question is more due to my grin than because of anything else I've said. 

"I never knew her, but I remember hearing about her from a few students. She had a habit of incorporating... unusual methods to her classes. She was... odd." 

Jim nods at me and then picks up one of the files. "And victim number three? Victoria Rawlins. She worked at the Cascade Performance Company. In the arts department." He looks up at me. "What the hell is that?" 

I laugh softly at the look on his face and look at my own notes from the case. "According to her sister, she was in charge of the production department. She had been an actress of some sort before she got this job." 

"An actress, a musician, a dancer. Are you seeing a pattern here, Chief?" 

I flip through my case notes. "And the fourth victim was Darlene Patton. She... was a violinist for a local symphony." 

"So, what do four women tied to the performing arts community have to do with the Mayor's daughter-in-law?" Jim asks. 

"I don't know. But what, if anything, ties them together. And why the false identity?" I voice my own questions. 

Before any answers are forthcoming, the door into the lab opens up and Megan walks in, several files in her hands. 

"Okay, boys. I did some checking. Belinda Walters disappeared from Cascade about fifteen years ago. Left her job, her home, her husband, everything, without a trace. Apparently the Mayor's son hired a few detectives, but nothing. No sign of her, anywhere." 

Megan hands over a couple of files she brought with her. "Here's the kicker. There were some rumors going around at the time, quietly, because our illustrious mayor was up for some sort of election at the time. But basically there was a lot of talk in some of the local circles about Thomas Walters. It seems he wasn't what you yanks would call faithful." 

"Ah... the plot thickens." I mutter. "And the women? Do we know who he was sharing his bed with?" 

"We do." Megan grins as she hands over another stack of folders. 

"Holy shit." I exclaim as I look at the names. 

"Exactly." Megan grins as I hand the files over to my partner. 

* * *

"So what exactly does this mean?" Megan asks. She's looking from Jim to me, and I can see that she's trying to sort it all out in her head but so far she isn't sure if we have all the pieces yet. 

"Well, for starters, it means that every one of the victims was, at one time or another, sharing a bed with Thomas Walters." 

"Is he the killer?" Megan asks. 

I shrug as Jim answers from where he's still examining the body parts. "Maybe. Maybe not. Whoever it is, is seriously disturbed." 

I turn around to look at him. "You're one with the understatement there, Big Guy." 

Jim grins at me and for a moment there's a light in his eyes that I have trouble identifying. But then he looks down to the table again, and his expression goes serious. 

I walk over to where Megan is standing a few feet away, to give Jim some room to do his thing, but not too far away that I can't help if he needs it. 

"Did you tell Simon? About our new evidence?" I ask quietly. 

Megan looks away for a second and when she looks back, she's got this amused look on her face. "Yep. He didn't seem too pleased though." She shakes her head at some memory. "He did say though that he would run interference with the Mayor until we've got something we can use." 

I nod and am about to comment when I hear a fierce growl come from behind me. When I turn around to look, I'm almost surprised to not to find some wild animal in the lab with us. 

"Jim?" I take a step back over to the table he's hunched over. "What is it?" 

Jim picks up one of the bags and sniffs it. Then again, this time taking a longer time to sort out whatever it is he smells. Before I can ask him again what it is he's found, another growl erupts from his chest. 

I place a calming hand on his shoulder and his head snaps around to look at me, almost as if he didn't know I was there. His eyes lock with mine, and I see something feral there. 

Just like it was the other night. 

I don't move my eyes from his as I speak. "Megan, can you leave us alone for a few?" 

I don't hear her answer but I know as soon as she's done as I asked. I do however hear the lock to the door we're in slip in place, but I don't have time to wonder why it is Megan locked the room. 

Jim places his hands on my shoulders and walks me backward towards another one of the lab tables. I'm not fighting him. In fact it doesn't even occur to me that I should. 

He's taking possession of me again, body and mind. He has my soul as well, but I'm not sure if he wants anything more than my body. I know later, that will depress me, but right now, right this minute, nothing matters. Except Jim, and his needs and what he's doing to me. 

I want him, as I have always wanted him. He means everything to me, and probably always has. The way he touches me fires my soul as well as my body. His lips trailing along my skin as his hands prepare me take me to a place I didn't know I was capable of venturing to, again. 

I don't know what started this, what has driven him to me, this time. But I know that it's just another instinct he can't ignore. Something else that requires him to mold himself to me in a way that I had never believed possible until the other night. 

And I know that this will happen again. As long as he needs me, I will be here. But I'm not sure how much longer I can do this knowing that it doesn't mean the same thing to him that it does to me. 

* * *

When I come back to myself, I am almost surprised to find myself on the cold floor of the lab. I move my head slightly and open my eyes. I'm sitting underneath one of the steel tables, only half dressed. 

It takes me a minute to remember how exactly I got into this position. When I do, I am both pleased and appalled. Pleased because I can't find it in myself to be upset about anything that concerns me getting naked with my Guide. Appalled because I can not believe that I had no control of myself. I didn't even realize what it was I was doing, not really. I just had this _need_ to take possession of him again, as if showing someone or something that he is mine, and they couldn't have him. 

I don't know who or what I was trying to prove this to, only that it somehow seemed necessary. 

When I sit up and begin to dress myself enough to look like I *didn't* just have sex in a lab at the police station, I look around for Blair. He's sitting on the floor several feet away, completely dressed, staring at me. I can't read the look on his face, but I don't like it. It's not a good look. 

"This can't keep happening, Jim." His voice is soft but it's filled with a pain I don't even want to name much less acknowledge that I had anything to do with putting there. 

I stand up and walk towards him. 

"Don't." His voice is still soft, still filled with pain, but now it's also filled with an edge that I know I should beware of. But I just can't. 

"Stop what?" I ask as I step closer. "Stop wanting you? Stop loving you? I'm sorry, Blair, but I just can't do that." 

He looks up at me, sharply. "Loving me? Is that what you think this is? Then you're in more denial than I am." He stands up and although he's definitely shorter than I am he seems to _loom_ over me. 

"This isn't about love. This is about possession and control, and you're need to lay claim to me, as your Guide." He pauses for a second but continues before I have a chance to interrupt. 

"And that's okay. Or I convinced myself that it was. And it is... to a point. But, God, Jim, I love you, and I can't keep doing this, knowing this is nothing but some primal instinct for you. I just...can't." 

He must have run out of steam because he sort of backs up and sags against the wall. I'm about to open my mouth and tell him how wrong he is. How this isn't about Sentinels and Guides or primal instincts, or my need to possess, except that it is, on some level. But it's so much more than that. I love him. The fact that he doesn't know that saddens me more than I can express and I realize that all the things I'm bad at, all the talking and the relationship stuff, I would do them all, with pleasure, if he would only accept what I'm offering. 

I'm about to tell him this when there's a knock at the door and I remember where we are. 

"Sandy? You and Jimbo okay in there?" Megan Connor's accented voice sounds from the other side of the door. 

"Yeah, we'll be out in a second." Blair calls out. 

"Good. We've got a new lead." 

Blair turns away from the door and faces me. "Let's go." He tells me. 

I nod. "This isn't over." I whisper, just loud enough for him to hear me. His head moves slightly and I'm not sure if its an affirmation or a denial, but either way, I need make sure he understands what he means to me. 

But first, we have a killer to catch. 

* * *

"This is where Thomas Walters lives?" I asked a bit disbelieveingly. 

The place was... well not what I expected. It was small. Really small. More like a cottage than a house, which was to be expected considering how far out we had to go to get here. I was expecting something, more... ritzy I guess. His mother is the mayor, and he's quite the social butterfly, if the media is to be believed. To find him here, in this small... cottage is a bit surprising. 

"Not his house, no. But this is where we'll find him." Megan is confident, and I find that slightly disconcerting. 

"What do you know that we don't?" I ask suspiciously. 

Megan waves her arms around our surroundings. "Sandy, a man like you, you'd think you'd know a love shack when you see one." 

Jim snorts at this. "You'd think." He says. 

I turn around to scowl at him, secretly pleased that despite our recent problems he can still make jokes. He can at least _appear_ to be unfazed. 

I start to move forward towards the front door. "Is anyone home?" I ask Jim. 

Jim stops for a second and I can tell he's extending his hearing. After a second he shakes his head. 

"I don't hear a heartbeat." Jim's voice has a strange tone to it and it alarms me. 

"What is it, Jim?" I ask and move closer to him, placing my hand on his arm. 

"I don't know. There's... something... a sound, or a smell maybe. I'm not really sure." 

Megan moves forward and opens the door without even knocking, and I stop to think how illegal that is, but for some reason it doesn't really bother me. Maybe it should, but it doesn't. 

"Shit." 

Both Jim and I hear the exclamation and it takes us about two seconds to follow her into the house. 

Jim winces at something that he senses. I think it might be olfactory, but I'm not sure. 

"This is... not good." I comment as I stare at the sight before us. 

"This is Thomas Walters?" Megan asks as she inches closer to the body. The victim's dead eyes are staring off at some point on the ceiling. 

I nod, my throat suddenly too dry for sound to escape. At the back of my mind I muster a small show of relief that his body is still in one piece, but I can't seem to find anything else good about this situation. 

"How'd he die?" I ask no one in particular. 

Jim's already examining the room for clues, which only he can see. It's several minutes before he answers. 

"Chemical poisoning." 

* * *

I stand here, staring at the dead body of the only solid suspect we seemed  
to have. There's something odd going on here. I know that sounds obvious  
given the situation and the bizarre evidence in this case.

But there's something here I'm missing. Some fact, which wants to be known, is niggling at the back of my brain. I just can't get a grip on it. 

And Jim, the way he's acting isn't helping matters. I know he feels threatened for some reason I don't understand. He needs to claim what he sees as his. And he isn't wrong. I am his, despite how lonely it makes me feel sometimes. 

But I've recently realized that Jim's strange behavior and this case may be related. He's always been a bit possessive, but recently he's gone beyond what's normal, for him. 

I can't help but think that something about this case is setting him off. I'm not sure if it's a reaction to something he's sensing and doesn't even realize it, or if it some sort of chemical reaction to the chemical poison which effects each victim. 

Either way, there's a clue to finding the answer here somewhere. 

I turn to look at Jim. He's examining the body still. Megan called Simon so he and the forensics people should be here at any moment. I hope that there's some clue here that wasn't at the other scenes. 

"She was in a hurry." Jim's voice is quiet, just loud enough for me to pick up on it. 

I also pick up on something else. "She? You know it's a woman? What do you smell?" I ask him, remembering how often his olfactory senses seem to be working on this case. 

Jim stands up and turns to me. "I'm not sure. Something familiar... a scent in the air. It was at the last two scenes as well." 

* * *

"What the hell is going on here?" Simon demands from a few feet away from where the forensic team was taking evidence. 

"Meet Thomas Walters." Megan offers and I'm not positive, but I think she's amused. 

Simon groans. I can sympathize with him. This case has been hell on Blair and I, but _we_ don't have to deal with the mayor. She's been a bug up our collective asses on this case from the beginning, and now with her son being found dead, it can only get worse. 

I look around the room again, taking in the surroundings. Blair is taking some notes off to one side. He must have found something new. 

"Was it the same killer? Same MO?" Simon asks as Blair joins us. 

"Yes." I tell him. 

"No." Blair disagrees at the same time. 

Simon looks from me to my partner. "Which is it?" 

"Both." Blair states with a level of assurety that shocks me. 

Everyone turns to stare at him, me included. 

"I have a theory." Blair turns to me, a serious expression on his face, but his eyes are shining in a way that tells me that he might be on to something. At least he believes he is. And when it comes to good ideas, he's rarely wrong. 

* * *

"So what's you're theory, Einstein?" Simon stares at me and despite the tone of voice I can tell he is hopeful. 

"I believe Thomas Walters was our first victim." I begin handing out some files I just threw together while I waited for Dan to finish his examination. 

"What?" Simon chomps down on his cigar and begins to look through the paperwork. 

I nod enthusiastically when I'm sure I have everyone's attention. "See, he was killed quickly, unlike the others. I think it might have been accidental." I turn the page in my own file and pull out a photograph of the victim. "His skin was covered in the chemical, saturated in it, here, and here." I point to a spot along his neck and on his forearms. 

"I think she threw it at him, maybe during an argument. It wasn't until later she realized how dangerous it was." I pull out another photograph, this one a close up of one of the affected areas of skin. "I don't think that was supposed to happen." 

Megan picks up the picture and looks at it, shaking her head at the image. "Is that bone?" She asks as she examines it more closely. "I didn't notice that when we were there." 

"That's because it wasn't there." I pull out yet another piece of paper from the file and pass it around. "This is Dan's report along with the report the forensics people gave me. 

"This chemical, the one that killed him, it ate through his skin like acid. But once inside, it stopped eating its way through, and sort of, evolved into something else." 

"Evolved?" Jim asks looking at me like I've grown another head. "Darwin, this isn't science class." 

I turn to look at him and smile slightly, despite the gruesome subject matter. "Actually, it is. This chemical, it's altered somehow by our body's natural chemistry. I think it's partially responsible for the dismemberment's, and completely responsible for the odd fluid we always find." 

"What a minute, Sandy." Megan's shaking her head at me and she has this look on her face. I can tell she does understand what I'm suggesting and doesn't like it. 

I can't say as I blame her. I don't like it much myself. 

"What you're suggesting," Megan continues, her head still shaking at me, "Is that this... woman, carves these people up, so she can _see_ what her poison is doing to them?" 

I nod grimly. "I think that was sort of an afterthought though, and not the reason behind the killings themselves." 

"What?" Simon asks incredulously. He's been examining the full file as we spoke. "According to your report, all of the previous victims were having an affair with Mr. Walters. So, did he, or didn't he kill them, and if not, who did?" 

"He didn't kill them." Jim speaks up, his eyes focused on one particular portion of the report. "Sandburg's right. Walters was the first to die. The other's came later. "The wife, if I were to guess." 

"The wife?" Simon looks from my partner to me and back again. "Jim, the wife, Belinda Walters was the last victim." When neither of us say anything he turns his dark eyes to Megan. "Wasn't she?" 

"No, sir. We don't think so." Megan offers helpfully. 

Simon sighs and runs a hand over his eyes, under his glasses. "No. Of course not. This is an Ellison-Sandburg case. Of course it can't be simple." He mumbles to himself. Finally he looks up at us. "So, if it wasn't the wife, who was it, and why were her fingerprints all over some woman's hand?" 

"Well, uh..." I begin, inching slightly away from the desk. "It was Belinda Walters hand. Just not the rest of her body." 

* * *

I know the minute the words leave Blair's lips that Simon's about to have a coronary. I stand up and watch in amusement as Blair hedges towards the door. 

"Bottom line, Captain, is we have five dead women, and the reason for their connection, Thomas Walters, seems to be the catalyst. He is what connects all the other victims, and he seems to be the first to die. We don't know how, exactly, or why. We don't know if the wife is dead or alive, only that it wasn't her body that was found, just her hand, and that she's the most likely suspect. The sooner we find her, the sooner we'll have some answers." 

Simon waves his hand at us. "Fine, fine. Go. I want this case closed." 

The three of us leave the office and after deciding that we're too exhausted to do much good tonight, we decide to go home and get some sleep, and start fresh in the morning. 

I for one am seriously exhausted. It seems like I haven't gotten any sleep since this case began. Between the bizarre murders, the strange sensory spikes, and the changes in my relationship with Blair, I'm not sure which end is up. I'm not sure he does either. 

The ride to the loft is done in silence and I know without a doubt that if I let him, he'll barricade himself in his room, and forget that we need to talk. Strange considering that he's usually the one pushing the conversations in this relationship. 

But not this time. This time he wants to forget. This time he doesn't want to deal with me and what he thinks are Sentinel-induced primal urges. This time he's wrong. 

"Chief." I grab his arm before we're even fully through the front door. "We need to talk." 

"Not now, Jim. I'm tired." He sounds weary, but I'm not giving up. Not that easily. Probably not ever. 

Blair slumps slightly, almost as if his legs won't hold him up anymore. I move him over to the couch and sit down next to him, never letting him go. 

"You're wrong." I whisper, the words hard to get out. 

"About what?" He asks, just as quietly. 

"About me. About you. About _us_." 

"Am I?" He turns to look at me, my sentinel sight allowing me to see the pain in his eyes, even in the darkness. 

"Yeah." I whisper and take his lips in a fierce kiss, trying to show him all I'm feeling through the contact. I want him, no I _need_ him to understand that this is about much more than primal urges. I need to show him that. But I'm prepared to tell him with words too. 

When I pull away from his mouth, his eyes are glazed, and almost black, the pupil nearly obliterating the blue. 

"I'm not out of control now. I'm not trying to possess you now." My voice is soft, hoping he understands. 

"You're not?" He asks quietly, and I can see a small sliver of hope in those eyes. 

"No, in fact..." I kiss him again, this time letting him control the kiss, letting his tongue devour me. 

"In fact?" He asks hoarsely as he pulls away. 

"In fact, I need..." I trail off, suddenly unsure if he's ready to give me what I need. 

"You need what, Jim?" He asks, his voice growing soft. 

"I need... to _be_ possessed." I whisper. "Will you take me?" 

I hold my breath as I wait for his answer. 

* * *

I freeze. I didn't just hear what I think I heard. Did I? I look deeply  
into his eyes and despite the darkness of the room, I know what I see  
in his eyes is real. He wants me. He needs _me_. And not for the reasons  
I thought before.

Suddenly I see everything clearly. Everything I was refusing to see before. It all makes a kind of strange bizarre sense. 

"You want me?" I ask him quietly, my voice slightly husky as I turn to face him more fully. "You need me?" 

"Yes." His answer is nothing more than a choked whisper and in the darkness of the living room I can see the raw need in the strong planes of his face. 

I stand up and for a second fear flashes in his eyes and I can see the moment he forces it away and decides to accept whatever it is I will give him. The complete need and surrender required for such an act makes me love him all the more. 

It also reinforces my recent realization that I was all wrong about what I thought our relationship was about. 

I reach out a hand and pull him to his feet. He seems a bit unsteady, but that's okay. He can lean on me, like he always does. He can depend on me to guide him, just like I depend on him to show me the way in so many things. 

Our relationship is so much more symbiotic than even I realized. We are the different pieces that make up one whole. One being, one entity, which is lost without all that it is. 

We are about to become one once again. And this time, there will be no mistaking why. 

* * *

I feel complete in a way I never knew before. Not even the two times this happened before. I'm not sure why that is exactly, except maybe now we're on the same wavelength. Now he understands. I understand. We _both_ understand. 

We are nothing without each other. No amount of serial killers, falling elevators, crazy psycho Sentinels, dissertation disasters or anything else the world will throw at us can separate us. 

We are all that matters. 

We are all that is. 

He's showing that to me as he undresses me. His touch is tender, but electric. The feel of his strong hands as they glide along my sensitive skin. The texture of his tongue as it tastes me. The love as it radiates from his body and pours into mine. 

These are things I could never find anywhere else, with anyone but him. 

I close my eyes and just feel what it is he is doing to me. How he is changing me with his touch. Molding me with his love. His fingers trail seductively along my body, coming closer to the place I so desperately want him to touch. 

He works his fingers, slippery with lube inside my body with a tenderness I know I didn't use with him. How he has so much control I'll never know. I can feel him tremble with the need. The need to take me, to possess me, as I have possessed him. 

I feel bereft for a moment as his fingers are removed from my body, but then he's back, and pushing inside of me. He's trying to be gentle, but I am just too far-gone to care. 

I push back against him and hear his moan, delighting in the sound. His hands move to my hips and just as I'm about to protest the lack of movement, he thrusts deep inside of me. 

We're moving together now, like one being. Each striving for completion we can only get together. I can feel his pulse as he moves inside me and know its moving at the same tempo as my own. My body is moving in complete harmony with his. Despite the need and desperation of our mating, it's our love that comes through every minute movement. 

I can feel myself losing my tenuous control as my climax comes closer. He moves one of his hands from my hip and wraps it around my cock, pumping it in time with his thrusts. 

I tumble over the edge, screaming his name, knowing I will be taking him with me into oblivion. 

* * *

"Jim?" I rub my hand against his sweat slicked back. "Come back to me, babe." 

I feel him twitch under my palm and continue to rub him soothingly. 

"Wow." Jim whispers as he turns over slightly. 

I pull him into my arms. "Yeah. Wow. That was... wow." I agree. 

"I love you." He whispers. 

My heart skips several beats and I know he hears it. I'm afraid to say anything and break the spell. 

"I do." He tells me. I try to nod but I can't seem to move. "It's you, Blair. Not the Cop you, or the Guide you, but just you-you." 

I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with oxygen because I know how true that is. I finally realize that he does love me. And it isn't about the Sentinel-Guide thing, or about some primal mating urge. He loves me. 

"I love you too." I answer. 

I am about to continue when the phone rings. I can feel his groan more than hear it as he's still pressed against my body. He extricates himself and moves off of the bed and down the stairs. 

I can't hear him but I know he's answered the phone because it's stopped ringing. I wait patiently for him to return to me, but after several long, silent minutes, my curiosity gets the better of me. 

Pulling on my jeans, which are hanging over the railing to the loft bedroom, I make my way downstairs. I look around the living room and kitchen, and find them both empty. 

"Jim?" I ask quietly, knowing that he'll be able to hear me no matter where he is. "Where are you?" 

Still no answer. 

I move towards my bedroom, knowing that's the only place I haven't checked. I get this sudden chill running down my spine as I stand in front of my closed bedroom door. 

I push it open, suddenly afraid of what I'll find. 

Jim's in there, sitting on my bed, with one of my flannels in his hand, frozen. 

I know instantly it's a zone. But not the usual variety. It's like the one he had in Simon's office. And I'm not sure if I can pull him out. 

* * *

I can hear Blair talking to me. His voice sounds distant and close all at once. The feel of his hand on my skin as he rubs my bare arm brings reality back into focus. I blink and inhale deeply, replenishing the oxygen, which doesn't seem to be reaching my brain. 

That's when I smell it. The scent. At once alien and familiar. 

"Jim? What is it?" Blair's voice is caressing my ear and I turn to look into his concerned blue eyes. 

I open my mouth but no sound wants to come out. My fist clenches around the garment in my hand. I shake the flannel, in lieu of actual words. 

"Jim?" Blair places his hand over mine. "Are you okay?" 

I shake my head, frustrated that my mouth doesn't seem to want to work. 

"What's wrong?" He asks me, taking the flannel out of my hand. "This is my shirt." He stares at it for a second and I know the moment he's made the connection. "This is the shirt I was wearing..." He trails off. I nod. 

Blair stands up and backs away slightly, taking the offending garment with him. "You know I wasn't with her. Nothing happened." 

I open my mouth again and move my lips to try to explain, but still no sound is coming out. At least none that I can hear. 

Blair drops the shirt on the floor and comes to kneel in front of me. He puts his hands on my shoulders and rubs them. 

"Jim. Look at me. Forget everything else. Just me. The sound of my voice. The feel of my hands along your skin." 

"Blair." The word sounds choked off to me but he's got this wide grin on his face. "How long?" I ask, needing to know how long I've been out of it. 

"What happened?" He asks me, ignoring my own question. 

I move my eyes away from his face and look at the flannel still sitting on the floor where he dropped it. 

"You smelled something?" He asks me. "Kassy?" 

I start to nod and then shake my head. I'm not really sure what it was I smelled. "I... I don't know." I tell him. "It's familiar. From the crime scene." 

His eyes grow wide and he stands up and retrieves the shirt and then walks out of the small bedroom. 

I stand up and follow him. He puts the garment in a plastic bag and sets it on the table while he finishes getting dressed. I stand frozen, and more than a little confused. 

"Don't just stand there, Jim. Get dressed. We have work to do." 

I shrug and follow his direction, like always. 

* * *

I pace around the lab, waiting impatiently for the results of the test on my shirt. When Jim told me he recognized the scent on my flannel as one he smelled at the crime scenes I knew that there was some sort of connection. 

I'm not sure what the connection is, or even if having the shirt analyzed will tell us, but I have to try. The sooner we get this case solved, the better. 

Jim told me that the phone call was from Megan and they'd dug up some more information on Walter's missing wife. He had gone into my room to grab the case files I'd left on my desk. The only thing I can figure is that the scent must have been pretty strong in my room, as closed off as it is. 

I'm still not sure what exactly it is he's smelled though. He can't really identify it as more than a familiar scent from the last two crime scenes. At first I thought it was me he was reacting to. 

I was at both crime scenes and it is my shirt. But he assures me it isn't me. Then I thought it might be that anthropology student I was tutoring. Kassandra Weatherly. I was wearing that particular flannel the day I saw her last. And he had a decidedly odd reaction to the scent of her on me. 

But if that were the case, how would the smell be at the crime scenes. And why? 

"All done." The lab tech smiles at me as she hands over the report on my shirt. 

"Thanks." I take the file and head back up to the bullpen. 

By the time I reach Major Crimes, I've had a chance to skim the report and am even more confused than before. According to the analysis, there's a thin layer of a compound very similar to the one responsible for the deaths of our victims. But in this form, it doesn't seem to be lethal. 

That explains how Jim recognized the scent, but not how it ended up on my clothes. 

* * *

"It says here that in this form, the chemical has a sweet kind of odor." Blair notes as he examines the report carefully. 

I nod my agreement. My head's still a little fuzzy and I'm not entirely certain that this information is going to bring us any closer to solving this case. 

"Ah ha!" Megan's shriek startles both Blair and I as she enters the conference room. 

"What?" I ask warily. Her eyes are all excited, and that's never a good sign. 

"Look what I found." She passes around a couple of files. 

I look through them but don't really see anything noteworthy. It's just some background information on Belinda Walters. She was married to Thomas Walters nearly twenty years ago, and disappeared a few years after that. 

She came from a broken home. No family to speak of. Except for a younger sister. 

My eyes narrow a bit as I continue reading. All the information regarding the sister stops about ten years ago. 

Blair sucks in a deep breath and I turn to look at him. His blue eyes are wide in shock and I wonder what he sees. His head snaps up and looks at our Australian colleague. 

"This is... this can't be right." He shakes his head. "Kassandra Weatherly? How is this possible?" 

Megan's expression softens in the face of Blair's confusion. "According to our background check. She was only ten when Belinda disappeared. She was married briefly at age eighteen to a... Sean Weatherly. He was some sort of scientific genius, specializing in alchemy, chemical ecology and toxicology, and its use in the modern world." 

I raise my eyebrows at this news. It sounds like someone who would know exactly how to make our elusive killer chemical. Before I can say so, Megan shakes her head at me. 

"Sean Weatherly died over a decade ago. He and Kassandra were only married for nine months." 

"But she could have learned about chemicals from him." I grin at the possible end to this insane case. "Do we know where she is now?" 

Megan frowns. "No, but we're looking into it." 

"Don't bother. I know where she lives." Blair's voice is firm, business like, but I can detect some pain in it. 

Megan looks surprised. I am too. 

"You do?" I ask, wondering how it is he knows where she lives when none of the rest of us do. Suddenly, my brain starts to catch up with itself. "She's your student? The one you were tutoring?" 

Blair nods. "Yeah. It must have been her that set you off the other day. And then again in the lab...and at home." 

He doesn't look happy, but slightly relieved at maybe finding the answer to all the weirdness of the past few days. 

"Come on." Blair stands up and leaves the conference room. 

* * *

I feel like a real idiot. All this time, I've known the killer. She's been right there, within my reach, and I never knew. How could I have been so stupid? 

I don't tell Jim what I'm thinking. He'd only tell me that there is no way I could have known. But there was. 

I should have known that there was something off about the girl. She had come to me asking for help. She said she was having some trouble with some of her course work. 

She had wanted me to help her understand things better, help her pass a couple of her classes. But from the beginning there seemed to be something off about her. Like she hadn't been being completely honest. 

Sometimes she would say things that didn't quite jive with other things she had said. What I don't understand is if she's the killer, then why? 

Why murder your sister's husband, and women he had apparently been involved with, and maybe your sister herself? Why poison and dismember them? 

And come to see me? Did she know I was one of the investigating officers? She must have. 

When she had first called me, it was only three days after the first victim had been found. I had never heard of her before but she said she knew me from my time at Rainier. 

Thinking about all this is just making me feel more stupid. 

This would never happen to Jim. 

* * *

I've graduated from confused and self-flagellating and into angry by the time we reach the address I have for Kassandra Weatherly. The house is huge, with a large lawn in front. 

There are only two other houses on the small street, each just as large. Hers is the one at the end of the cul-de-sac. The small street is silent, the houses dark, and I wonder what we'll find once we go inside. 

I turn to face my partner. He has his head cocked to the side and I can tell he has his hearing turned up. 

"Anything?" I ask quietly while I put a grounding hand on his back. 

"One heartbeat, but..." Jim speaks lowly and he has a frown on his face. 

"But?" I ask growing concerned. 

"She's speaking... to someone. I think." 

"Maybe she's on the phone." I suggest. 

Jim shrugs and we move forward. Megan, and Detectives Rafe and Brown are behind us. The front door, oddly enough, is unlocked and Megan opens the door without knocking. She does that a lot. They must have different procedural rules in New South Wales. 

Jim moves ahead of us and motions for us to split up. Rafe and Brown begin their search of the house upstairs. Megan goes down a hallway and searches the ground floor. I follow Jim down a staircase near the door. 

I assume he's tracking the heartbeat he heard but I don't want to disturb him to ask. He stops at the foot of the stairs. There is a door which leads into the basement, I think. It's slightly opened. Not enough for me to see but I'm sure he has no problem hearing what's going on inside. 

Jim pushes the door open slightly, enough for both of us to slip inside, unnoticed. 

I can't see anything because Jim is still standing in front of me, but I can hear talking. It sounds like one end of a conversation because I don't hear any response. Jim seems frozen in place, so I place my hands on his arm and back and move him over gently. 

Once I can see what he is staring at, I freeze in place myself. 

There pacing around the room in obvious agitation, is Kassandra Weatherly. She's wearing a while lab coat and speaking frantically to something a couple of feet in front of her. 

It's the object of the frantic accusations that freezes us. 

In a large chest freezer sitting only a few feet away is a body. 

* * *

I'm having a seriously hard time maintaining focus. The scents in this room alone are enough to drive me to zone. But the feel of Blair next to me, with his hand on my arm is grounding me. 

Our perp, Kassandra Weatherly, hasn't noticed us. I'm not sure whether that's because we're really good at hiding or because she's completely insane. Any doubts I may have had about her level of sanity before we arrived here, have now vanished. 

She is pacing across her floor with a beaker in her hand screaming at a dead woman. I'm not sure if Blair recognizes the victim. But it's Belinda Walters. Minus a hand. The hand we no doubt found at the last scene. 

I'm about to alert her to our presence and just arrest her and hopefully but an end to this crazy case when Blair holds up a hand to still my action. I turn to him and he nods his head towards the woman. 

As I watch her pacing around the floor I start to listen to her actual words and realize that she may be insane but she's making a sort of strange twisted sense. 

"This is all your fault, Bela." She tells the dead woman in her freezer. "You left and he was mine. Mine! I waited. I waited for years until I was old enough and pretty enough and everything that he thought you were. But then, when I finally get him to come here to see me, to see how successful I am, I tell him who I am, that I want him, that I _love_ him. And what does he do?" She stops speaking and turns her eyes to the woman, almost as if she's expecting an answer. 

Of course, she doesn't get one, so she continues ranting. 

"He tells me he could never love me. That I am just a child. A _child_." She hisses that last word before going on. "Then he tells me you came back. That you were getting back together. I couldn't allow that. I know you understand." 

Kassandra steps closer to the freezer and lowers her voice, but I can still hear her. 

"I didn't mean to do it, really. He was standing over there," She points over to the other side of the room where there's some sort of laboratory table with beakers and flasks full of liquids I can't identify. She turns back to her dead sister. "Then he starts picking things up, telling me why he can never love me." 

Her voice is really quiet now, almost sad although it's still laced with that insanity that laced it before. "I just lost it. All of a sudden I couldn't stand him touching my stuff. Touching things that I had touched. It just wasn't right. That's when it happened. I grabbed a beaker out of his hand." Kassandra held up the beaker in her own hand. "One just like this. Same chemicals, same toxin. Only I didn't know it was toxic then." Kassandra seemed to sag a little bit at this admission but then started moving excitedly as she continued her explanation. 

"I was just so angry, you know. I grabbed the beaker out of his hand. He didn't want to let it go. Then poof, he spilled it. It was all over his arm and dripping onto the floor. It ate through his skin like acid. Acid. Can you imagine?" 

She turns to face the dead woman and from my position I can see the glazed look in her eyes, and hear the rapid beat of her heart. I can tell she is still working up to something so we wait. 

"After that, things seemed to go downhill. I didn't know what to do, so I brought his body back to that cottage you told me about. Then I found his address book. And all those women. They were laughing at me. Taunting me with what he gave them and would never give me." 

"So you killed them." Blair's voice startles me, so intent was I on our suspect's speech. 

It must have startled her as well because she shrieked and the beaker she was carrying slipped from her hands. Everything seemed to flow into slow motion as the beaker tumbles to the floor. Recalling her words, I realize how dangerous the liquid is. I move forward, hoping to move her out of the way in time. 

"Jim! No!" 

Blair's words reach my ears but it's too late. He is too late in his warning, and I am too late getting to our killer. By the time I reach her, the liquid has already spilled onto the front of her blouse. She seems to be frozen there, staring at it. It eats through her shirt and her skin starts to smoke. 

Her mouth is moving but suddenly I can't hear what she is saying. It's like her lips are moving but nothing is coming out. And her heartbeat, I can't hear that either. 

I see the smoke as its tendrils reach my nose, but I can't smell anything. And I know it is happening again. I am going to that nowhere place. I feel the grayness descend upon me, and then there is nothing. 

* * *

It is nearly an hour before Jim even shows the slightest bit of true consciousness. I am trying not to freak out too bad. But on one hand I'm kind of glad. Kassandra Weatherly did not die an easy death. I won't be forgetting it anytime soon. 

After her skin started to smoke both she and Jim fell to the ground. She was shrieking like a banshee and I wanted to help her. I really did. But seeing Jim lying there, just inches away from a toxin that could literally dissolve a person, made me more interested in protecting my Sentinel that the crazy woman who had created it. 

Her screams must have alerted the others because by the time I had moved Jim away from Kassandra, Megan was in the basement and calling for an ambulance and forensics and I was grateful for it. 

Megan and Simon helped me convince the paramedics that Jim was all right and once they left us alone I worked on bringing him out of his bizarre zone. When he finally came around I wanted to kiss him but I didn't think he'd appreciate the gesture, considering Simon was standing only a couple of feet away. 

Jim blinks and looks around us carefully. We are now outside of the house, off to the side, away from all the commotion. 

"How long?" His voice rasps at me. 

"Long enough, Big Guy." I reply. 

"Jim, you okay?" Simon bends down and takes a good look at my partner. 

Jim nods. "100 percent." 

I can't help but smile at that response. Simon must be relived that Jim is coherent enough to answer because he just smiles and waves his hand at us. 

"Sandburg, take him home. You can fill out the paperwork tomorrow." 

You don't need to tell me twice. I take Jim home and put him to bed. I know there are things we should probably talk about. The case, our relationship, his weird zone outs, but now really isn't the time. 

* * *

It's been a week since we wrapped up the Weatherly case, and although we haven't really talked about our relationship much, Sandburg has had plenty of theories about everything else. 

He says the new and highly disturbing zone-outs are a reaction to the chemical Kassandra Weatherly used to kill her victims, so he doesn't think we'll be seeing any more of those. 

The chemical itself was something she created. From what we've determined, it was originally supposed to have some sort of cosmetic applications, but once it comes into contact with organic matter, it's structure is altered. 

The department's psychiatrist, as well as my partner, believe it was a combination of realizing her new product was useless, and discovering that a man she had obsessed about for nearly twenty years didn't want her was what set her off. 

Blair seems a bit subdued regarding Kassandra. I know he feels guilty for not figuring out it was her sooner. I want to help him realize there was nothing he could do. She sought him out, knowing who he was, so she was probably very careful in her conversations with him. But he still feels bad. 

Personally, I'm glad the case is closed. The reports have been filed and the mayor seems to be pleased with the results. She wants to keep the story out of the press as much as possible. So far, we've been fairly successful. 

Simon gave us a couple of weeks off to recuperate from the stress of this case. 

Normally I would have refrained from taking the time, but I could really use some down time with my Guide. 

We need to reconnect. Remind ourselves who we are to each other. 

I know he's going to want to talk about us. Our lives and our future. Not a conversation I'm looking forward to, but for him, I'll do anything. 

* * *

The End 


End file.
